When Gavin meets Jackie on a bench in the local park, he thinks she's a stranger.
She knows better.
She’s connected to him in ways he can’t yet imagine.
She swore she wouldn’t do this again but it's real this time.
So real, she might do something reckless and tell him everything.
He’ll understand. It wasn’t her fault, not really.
Perhaps he’ll forgive her, even if she can never forgive herself.
Life, Slightly by Nigel Jay Cooper is published on 30 September 2022 by Roundfire Books. As part of this #RandomThingsTours blog tour, I am delighted to share an extract with you today.
Extract from Life, Slightly by Nigel Jay Cooper
She finds them on benches. The broken ones, the lonely ones, the ones who don’t know they’re broken. She tries to mend them and although she isn’t always successful, sometimes she is and that’s enough. Most of the time.
She leans back against her wooden bench and surveys the park. The sun is low in the sky for this time of year, casting a yellow-orange light that makes everything seem slightly displaced and unreal around her. Overgrown bamboo rustles lightly in the breeze as birds play on the stone waterfall that rises from the back of a small, ornate pond. They splash themselves, bathing or drinking or doing whatever it is birds do when they find themselves ankle deep in water.
She’s been sitting here for over an hour now, singing to herself quietly as families drift in and out, children on scooters, mothers showing infant babies the pond, searching for fish. They aren’t her type, not today at least. This one has to be special and while she can’t put her finger on exactly who she’s looking for, she trusts the process. Someone right will come along, they always do. It’s still early, she has all day. No rush. Perhaps she’ll nip to the café to get a take-away coffee while she waits.
No.
Her heart pulses, again, again, again.
There he is.
Late thirties, early forties, maybe? Wearing jeans and white trainers. A blue T-shirt with the words ‘I see you’ written in small white letters to the left of his chest.
Gavin.
Her song dies in her throat, dried by recognition and excitement. He leans on the low railings by the pond with his back to her, about a metre in front of the bench she’s sitting on.
‘Nina Simone,’ the man says, jolting her back to reality. His voice is low, gravelly but reassuring, the type of voice she immediately wants to hear more of. It’s him, she’s sure of it. ‘What?’ Jackie replies, chalk dust in her throat. Nobody speaks to her first, that’s not how this works. She always does the introductions.
Brighton with his partner, their two children and greying ginger dog.
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